Wrench
by Sewer Slider
Summary: Based on the 1990's cartoon. When friends and enemies from the past show up, the Biker Mice discover that things are not always as they appear.
1. Prologue

**Author Note \ \**taps mic\ \ Is this thing on? Good. Ahem, this is my first ever BMFM fic and therefore am not used to writing the characters. Should they sound out of character or should there be any other faults in this fic, feel free to let me know and I'll do my best to change it, or at least do better next time. But be nice, I'm fragile!

This is the important one, and although there'll be mentions in more specific chapters, I'm putting it in here too. There is one character who will, by necessity, be acting kinda - strangely. Don't worry, I'm not bashing the character or villainising them just for the sake of it (I like the character!), all will be explained. So no yelling at me for it. Wait until the story is complete. Then you can yell at me.

**Disclaimer:** This runs through the whole fic, as I always forget to add one of these things. I don't own any of the characters and probably never will. I'm just borrowing them to torture. I'll give them back in one piece. Maybe.

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Lawrence Limburger was enraged. And when the boss got this mad, his underlings cowered and tried very hard not to have his wrath aimed in their direction. Greasepit had retreated to a corner and was trying not to sniffle, while Karbunkle surreptitiously slid closer and closer to the door. In contrast, Fred the masochistic mutant was giggling quietly to himself, relishing the scene and hoping this might be the beginning of something that led to him being blown up, thrown off something or having a building dropped on his head. Preferably all three.

Limburger had ripped off his human mask mere minutes into the diatribe, tossing it on his desk without pausing in his lambasting of the hapless trio. That wasn't a good sign – Limburger rarely voluntarily removed his disguise. What was worse was that none of them knew what had triggered the ranting. They had been summoned to the office and then had to try to work out what had annoyed him so greatly _this_ time.

The usual suspects were furry Freedom Fighters on intelligent motorcycles. But since the tower was still standing, it seemed that this time it was something entirely different.

Eventually, Limburger exhausted his entire repertoire of insults and sighed deeply, almost falling into the seat behind his desk. Greasepit and Karbunkle dared to raise their eyes, cautiously optimistic. Now they could find out what had brought this on and maybe do something about it. Nothing was guaranteed to put their boss in a better mood than strip-mining the planets natural resources, gaining favour with the High Council (and when it was at the expense of one of his fellow Plutarkians, it was a valuable bonus) or putting a plan in motion that involved the Biker Mice being defeated.

Fred was optimistic too. When the yelling stopped and the planning began, it usually wasn't long until things started exploding.

Karbunkle spoke in a quivering voice. "What has upset you, your Royal Dairyness?"

"What has _upset_ me, you simpering sycophant, is that Lord High Poo-Bah Camembert has lost patience with the woefully inadequate shipments of Earths natural resources to Plutark and I have had to suffer his tedious diatribes for too long – and now, he has threatened to replace me. Replace _me_! And all because of you _incompetent imbeciles_!"

"Uh, gee boss, I thought dat was because of them there mousies," said Greasepit, who had never grasped the concept of the wise man learning silence.

"_EXACTLY!"_

The roar made both Greasepit and Karbunkle flinch backward. Limburger rose from his seat and slammed his palms against the polished wood, almost sending his ever-present dish of slime worms skittering right off the table.

"The Biker Mice! Those vexatious vermin are _constantly_ stopping my plans to relieve this city of its many wonderful resources, the very thing that would solidify my standing with the High Council and _why_? _BECAUSE I HAVE TO WORK WITH YOU PATHETIC. PITIFUL. PEONS! _Resources I could be using to gain land for Plutark, being used to deal with those mice, time I could be working on gaining a political and financial stranglehold – and the financial! The money that goes on importing villains, paying goons, financing failure after failure after failure!"

"Sounds like you need someone who isn't motivated by the money."

Limburger raised his eyes, scowling as he saw the figure leaning against the doorframe. "_You? _What are you doing here on Earth? And – and did you just say something about not wanting any money?" His voice quieted as he said the last, his businessman's mind suddenly ticking over.

"I didn't say I wouldn't want any money." The newcomer strolled into the room, ignoring all occupants save Limburger. Greasepit watched with a slightly confused look on his face – remembering names, faces and the situations around them was not a strength of his – but Karbunkle's face clouded over and he strode angrily forward, forgetting his earlier desire to depart.

"Your Cream Cheesiness, this – this _fool_ is the reason that the operation on Mars was a failure, how those accursed Freedom Fighters were able to stop the tug transformer…"

Without even turning, the newcomer reached out and grabbed Karbunkle by the collar with one hand, lifting the doctor off his feet and bringing him up to eye-level. Karbunkle suddenly found himself face to face with a rat, who had gone from coolly amused to cold and furious within the blink of an eye. A mouse, Karbunkle remembered with sudden nervousness, who had fought alongside the Freedom Fighters on Mars while selling them out to the enemy, undiscovered in his disguise, without even breaking a sweat. To even attempt it took nerves of steel; to get away with it for as long as he had took cunning, brains and an intense amount of ruthlessness.

Mace.

"It was your lab from which the Biker Mice escaped, your mind control of Stoker that was ineffective, your tug transformer that they were able to sabotage. All that I was able to achieve on Mars was wiped away through _your_ incompetence."

"I, em, well I…"

Dropping him to the floor, Mace reverted immediately back to his previous charming demeanour, as casually as one might flip a switch. "Have you forgotten that I spent some time with the Biker Mice back on Mars? I know a great deal about them that you don't."

"Hmmm." Limburger took no notice of his scientist gasping for breath and trying to scramble away. He could see where more intimate knowledge of his enemies would come in useful – but he had tried more cerebral methods to bring about their destruction before and none had worked. Also, Mace had not been anywhere near the mice since the tug transformer debacle. What he thought he knew might no longer apply. "What are you suggesting?"

Mace leant against the desk, half-turned so he could look at Limburger. "You've been battling against the Biker Mice for a long time."

"Oh yes," sighed Limburger.

"So it's occurred to you that they'd be weaker alone than together?"

"I had Evil-Eye Weevil transported in for that very reason."

"Evil-Eye? No wonder it didn't work. Tried talking them around?"

"I offered one of the mice a very generous salary _and _a new arm and what thanks did I get? My beautiful scheme, ruined again."

"Telling them you've reformed? Suggesting an alliance?"

"Yes, I don't know why I keep trying that. It didn't work very well, even the first time."

"Taking away someone they care about?" Mace said the last with a sly smirk.

"Have you any idea of the sheer number of times I've kidnapped that odious associate of theirs?"

"The mechanic?" Mace laughed at Limburgers questioning look. "I've been on the planet for some time. Been checking out old _friends_. Came here on a transporter – Brie owed me a favour."

Limburger didn't like the look Mace wore one bit – it suggested that there was something that Limburger didn't know and he and Brie had been trying to get rid of each other since they were back on Plutark. But then, Mace was a master manipulator and he decided to ignore the expression and concentrate on the more pressing issue.

"What is the point of these questions Mace?"

Mace stopped smirking and became deadly serious, standing upright rather than slouching. "I intend to infiltrate the Biker Mice."

Limburger stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. Karbunkle and Greasepit joined in, although Greasepit wasn't entirely sure what 'infiltrate' meant, he didn't want to look stupid. Mace merely looked on, his gaze appearing mild but never once leaving Limburger.

"Infiltrate the… oh, my dear boy, ha ha…" Limburger took an expansive red handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped at his streaming eyes, only then realising he had forgotten to replace his human mask and reaching for it.

"You don't think I can do it?"

Limburger put the mask on, chuckling some more. "As you must know, the number of people those mice trust is minimal, and the number they would invite willingly into their inner circle still smaller. You are a rat and known to them as someone who betrayed them. They know your mouse disguise and even if you furnished yourself with another, they also know your voice. Should you even fool them into believing you are in fact a mouse, they would want to know why you were here on Earth and why they had never heard of your involvement in the war on Mars. So, what _is_ your plan? Disguise yourself as a human and attempt to charm Miss Davidson? That most mouthy of mice would be out for your blood and even if you were to attract the meddling mechanic, it would take time that I would prefer not to spend."

Mace raised an eyebrow. "What if I told you that I could have someone living amongst them tomorrow whom they would trust totally?"

"I would call you a liar," replied Limburger, getting bored of the joke now. "No matter how many civilians they rescue, they never let their guard down around them. I've tried that one too. Do you have a plan or did you come here for the sole purpose of irritating me?"

A look of dislike flashed over the rats face and was gone again, so fast that most people would not have spotted it, but Limburger was used to playing the political game and a successful politician sees the small things. It didn't bother the Plutarkian. Most people came to dislike him. Standing with him in an enclosed space could do it, even before he began to speak.

Mace turned his head and gave a whistle. "Hey, come in here!"

Limburger sighed as he glanced wearily at the door. "Oh really, I did insist the last time this tower was rebuilt that it be made rodent-proof…" He trailed off and a rather nasty smile crept across his face. "Maybe I _have _underestimated you Mace. I believe we can make a deal!"

"Let's talk turkey then Limburger." Mace folded his arms casually. "I want paying."

"I thought you said this wasn't about money," replied Limburger, hoping to get out of the stipulation.

"It isn't," said Mace, the genial smile remaining, but his eyes going cold and hard. "It's about revenge. Showing that no mouse can ever mess with me. I lost out there on Mars and I don't like losing. But if I can make a little cash while I do it, then why not take advantage?"

"Of course," said Limburger wearily, pulling out his chequebook. He should have expected nothing else from Mace.

Still… the rat was probably the best he had ever worked with, had certainly showed the Biker Mice a few things back on Mars. And he was sneaky, cunning and manipulative, knowing how to turn any situation to his advantage, how to create self doubt in even the most confident.

And he had an advantage.

For the first time in living history, Limburger gave a genuine smile while writing a cheque. He was beginning to believe that this was the plan that could bring the Biker Mice down. Permanently.


	2. The Return

_"It's a beautiful day here in Chi-town, so why don't you guys stuck in the early morning rush hour traffic roll down the windows and share the sounds of Sweet Georgie Brown with the world…"_

The sounds of Iron Maiden filled the scoreboard that overlooked Quigley Field in Central Chicago. The field, stands and bleachers were deserted and the unusual occupants of the stadium were taking advantage of that.

"White mouse caaaaaame, across the staaaaaars…."

The off-key pitch of someone changing the song lyrics caused two of the scoreboards occupants to grimace over their breakfast. They'd had years of practise, but Vinnie in the morning could still grate on a mouse's nerves.

The mouse in question came into view, holding a bottle of root beer aloft. "The baddest mouse on all of Maaaaars…"

A well-aimed biker magazine to the head stopped Vinnie mid-lyric. He glared for a moment, then decided he was too hungry to sulk and sat at the table instead, grabbing himself a hot dog. "Hey, you two just don't appreciate sheer talent."

"We don't _appreciate_ the root beer bottles exploding when you go for the high notes bro," replied Throttle amicably.

Modo slammed his own drink on the table and belched hugely. "What're we doing today?"

"The usual," said Throttle. "Race the bikes, stop by the Last Chance, pound some bad guys, save the city and then come back here for eats!"

"Aow! Sounds like my kinda day!" Vinnie slammed a fist onto the table.

"I dunno, Limburger's been awful quiet lately," said Modo doubtfully.

Vinnie grinned at him. "You've jinxed us. And for that – I thank you!"

Throttle shook his head resignedly and rose. "Wanna swing by the garage first, see what's happening?"

"Sure thing bro, wouldn't want Charley-girl getting withdrawal symptoms!"

Modo rolled his eye. "Yeah, 'cause she _lives_ for you to stroll in and start telling her how great you are."

"Wouldn't want her to forget it," said Vinnie unperturbed, heading over to his bike. "You comin' with Big Guy or you gonna sit there all day feeding your face?"

"Hey! You ate the last one," growled Modo, following the others and settling in the saddle of his own bike.

"If you've quite finished bickering children," said Throttle, revving his engine. "It's time to rock…"

"AND RIDE!" they all finished, pulling wheelies and speeding away.

Riding through rush hour traffic was slow going, but once they hit the district that housed the Last Chance Garage, traffic didn't so much thin out as become almost nonexistent. The area hadn't been a particularly rich one when Limburger arrived on Earth and he had found it a simple job to have several buildings condemned, buy up those that he couldn't and bully the remaining few who hadn't wanted to leave. By the time the Mice had arrived there had been only one holdout – and if not for her tenacity, not to mention the sudden arrival of three Martians who could always use a good mechanic, the entire neighbourhood would have been little more than a crater in the ground. As it was, there were signs of an excavation abandoned, derelict buildings, dangerous holes in the asphalt and the sole remaining open business among the devastation.

Charley Davidson heard the engines, but recognised them from long experience. She did most of their routine maintenance work as well as some of the more unusual modifications, as well as spent many hours riding pillion on Vinnie's red racing bike, so it would have been odd if she hadn't. She didn't bother to look up until she heard them ride into the garage and come to a halt.

"Hey guys," she said, wiping her hands on a rag and abandoning the moped she was working on. She had a good reputation around Chicago's biker community, which was the only thing to keep the garage in business – had she been forced to rely on proximity or traffic, she'd be bankrupt within a month. "What's going on?"

"Sweetheart!" Vinnie got off his bike and walked over with his customary swagger. "You wore eau de exhaust just for me?"

Charley rolled her eyes, for the first time that day, although probably not the last. Still, it was better than the previous days 'covered in oil' remark. She would never know how he managed to duck that spanner.

"What's new Charley-girl?" asked Throttle, ignoring Vinnie.

"Fixing this for Mike's kid," she said, referring to a frequent customer who owned two classic bikes that needed lots of attention. "He's picking it up tomorrow, but I want to get it finished."

"Don't let us stop you sweetheart," said Vinnie, wandering over to the radio and turning it on. Charley sighed. So much for peace and quiet. The previous day, she had been 'treated' to all three mice singing a classic Clash song, complete with air guitar. The crescendo had led to an entire shelf full of tools crashing to the floor and the mice taking one look at her expression and running for it.

The strains of the previous song faded and the presenter spoke again. _"Road news! Might wanna avoid Division Street today. We got a protest outside the Windy Pines Rest Home. Seems that the golden oldies are about to be evicted after the big cheese, Lawrence Limburger, bought the building and half the block. Traffic's slow so look for another way to get where you gotta be – later!"_

Modo reached out and switched off the radio, cutting off the opening chords of the next song. His eye was glowing, a sure sign that he was really annoyed. "Throwing old people out on the streets really makes me mad."

"I don't get it," said Throttle with a frown. "What could he want with a rest home?"

"And half the block," Charley reminded him. "Sounds to me like he's planning a Plutarkian style makeover of the area." She glanced out of the window, perhaps thinking of the change Limburger had made to her own neighbourhood.

"I say we bust into Limburger towers, grab the big cheese and tell him there's gonna be a change of plan." Vinnie pounded his fist into his palm, looking pleased at the prospect.

"Whoa, cool down," said Charley. "Why don't we go down to the home and see what's going on for ourselves?"

"But – but – Charley!"

"Good idea," replied Throttle, ignoring Vinnie's protests. "Wouldn't be the first time he sent false info to the show to lure us into a trap."

"Oh _man_!" Vinnie sighed as the three went over to their bikes. "Where's the action there?"

"Wait, I'll go with you," said Charley, grabbing her helmet and settling on the back of Vinnie's bike. "We don't need motormouth here aggravating the elderly."

"Sweetheart, old people _love_ me."

"Someone has to," grumbled Charley.

"You're not that old," retorted Vinnie, earning himself a punch to the arm.

They rode over to the rest home and found that the radio had been right – the traffic was slowing to watch the protest, beeping their horns in support and causing a tailback. The three bikes pulled up beside the home and the four dismounted, watching the surreal scene.

Twenty-five elderly people were standing outside, shouting in shrill voices, waving hand-lettered signs. As the four approached, an old lady in winged glasses and blue tinted hair marched over to them and thrust a sign at Modo.

"Come on young man, take over while I rest my feet."

"Uhhh…"

"Come along!" The pensioner grabbed Modo's hand and pulled. Modo looked back helplessly, but there was no help to be had from his smirking friends and he let himself be dragged off.

"When it comes to the big guy, old ladies have a sixth sense," said Vinnie with a snigger.

"I'll go find out what's going on," said Charley, taking off her helmet. "You two stay here and try not to laugh at Modo too much."

"I wish I brought my camera," said Vinnie, settling back onto his bike and grinning widely at his hapless friend, looking out of place among the far smaller old people, holding a sign that had a picture of Limburger on it, a red No Entry symbol superimposed over it.

Charley went over to the old lady taking a rest while Modo held her sign and returned to Throttle and Vinnie ten minutes or so later.

"She says they got a letter this morning that told them they had a week to find somewhere else to live. The building's up for demolition apparently. But most of them have nowhere else to go."

"Then it's settled," said Throttle grimly. "We go over to Limburger's and find out what he's up to. He had to know that people would fight eviction in this neighbourhood."

"Right." Vinnie whistled. "Hey Modo! We've got work to do!"

Looking relieved, Modo handed his sign back to the old lady. Charley smiled, then replaced her helmet.

"Whoa sweetheart! What do you think you're doing?"

She gave Vinnie an exasperated look. "I'm putting on my helmet. The way you speed, I need all the protection I can get."

"Sorry Charley-girl," said Throttle, shaking his head. "We're talking Limburger here. Odds are he'll have his goons shooting at us, we'll have to make go crashing through windows and we might have to make a fast exit… Vinnie, are you grinning?"

"No," said Vinnie quickly, revving his engine. "Can we go already?"

"But…" Charley knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she tried anyway. "I could help!"

"We don't want you getting hurt Charley-ma'am," said Modo from behind her. "Hey, if you want to help out, they're looking for people to hold signs!"

Throttle lowered his visor. "Let's rock…"

"AND RIDE!" The three roared off in a cloud of exhaust smoke and Charley growled, clenching her fists and glaring after them.

They'd been to Limburger Tower so often that they sometimes joked they could ride there in their sleep. The structure loomed in the distance, recently reconstructed after yet another mysterious explosion had toppled it.

From the base of the building, a door slid open and a moment later, seven dune buggies emerged, each manned by two goons, one driving and one shooting on the Biker Mice.

"One of these days, we've got to find where Limburger hides his cameras," said Throttle.

"Why?" Vinnie pulled a flare from his bandoliers. "It's always so much more fun when there's a welcome wagon!"

He accelerated at the lead buggy, at the last moment jumping the vehicle and dropping the flare between the goons. The pair took one look and dived out, the buggy exploding a second later and raining debris over the road.

Throttle veered to the right, two buggies immediately peeling away from the pack to go after him. Glancing over his shoulder, the mouse took a moment to power up his nuke-nuks and then skidded one-eighty and went back. A perfectly executed punch to a goon in the nearest buggy lifted him clear out of the seat, leaving the vehicle driverless and it swerved into the second, leaving both in a twisted heap of metal.

Modo headed to the left, raising his mechanical arm and taking shots at the oncoming buggies, blasting the wheels from under one and sending it into a helpless skid that ended at the foot of a lamp post. The second and third were hit directly in the engine, forcing goons to leap from the buggies before they were blown apart in a shower of parts.

The final buggy had decided to go after Vinnie, who had landed in the wake of the devastation his flare had caused and was going toward Limburger Tower. Weaving skilfully to avoid shots, he hit a button on his dash, causing an oil spill behind him. The buggy hit the oil and the tyres lost all grip on the road, sliding sideways. The goon fought for control, but only succeeded in tipping the vehicle onto its side, where it slid a few more feet before coming to a stop.

"AAOOWW!" Vinnie didn't even slow, riding at full speed toward the side of the tower, Modo and Throttle doing likewise. Rearing the bikes back as they got to the tower, they drive straight up the side in a way that no bike made on Earth could ever achieve.

The lasers that Limburger had fitted to the tower as a matter of course every time it was rebuilt emerged from their homes and began firing. The Plutarkian may as well have saved his money; the mice had never been stopped by them in the past and nor were they now, easily avoiding the lasers. The top window belonged to the office where Limburger lived and they crashed through, as they had done so many times in the past, entering the office in their usual shower of raining glass, leaving burnt rubber on the carpet as they skidded to a stop, facing the desk. Limburger flinched from the flying shards, sat at his desk looking strangely unworried.

Throttle raised the visor on his helmet and stared through his shades at Limburger. "Alright fish face, what are your plans for the rest home?"

Limburger gave an insincere laugh. "You broke my window over _that_? A little misunderstanding. Administrative error. The wrong letter was sent to the wrong people, the incident is already being rectified. I couldn't have the public seeing me as some sort of ogre now, could I?"

Modo's eye glowed red and he raised his mechanical arm, training it on the Plutarkian. "You expect us to believe you?"

"Well no, I suppose I don't." Limburger got to his feet and walked around the desk, apparently unconcerned by the laser trained on him. "But I had to lure you three up here somehow. That's why it's called a trap."

There was a moment's silence as the Biker Mice tensed, waiting for enemies to appear or guns to start firing on them. Then they waited a few more moments. Then a few more.

Vinnie leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone. "Uh, Limburger, did you forget to press the destruct button or something?"

"You ridiculous rodent," snapped Limburger. "What will happen is this; you three will give yourselves up without a fight – and I might be persuaded to allow your friend to remain unharmed."

Throttle, Modo and Vinnie exchanged mildly alarmed looks. _"Charley?"_

"No, not that woman," replied Limburger. "Far too difficult to keep under restraint."

This revelation did not cheer the mice any, if anything it made them more nervous. Charley knew how to behave when taken hostage – wait for an opening and take it. A part of the team, she could understand the subtle hints as to what the mice would do next. But they could think of no one else it could be, unless Limburger had begun kidnapping innocent people off the streets.

"Greasepit!" called Limburger. "Do bring in our guest."

Greasepit walked into the room, a gun in one hand, the muzzle pressed firmly against the temple of the figure he held, the other meaty forearm across her throat. The heavyset man gave them a gap-toothed smirk, but his captive didn't even spare them a glance, wide eyes focused only on the weapon at her head.

Vinnie took one look and the expression of determined defiance left his face in an instant, replaced by a look of total shock. The room, his bros and Limburger all seemed to fade into the background as his mind stubbornly superimposed the last time he had seen the person in Greasepit's hold, standing in exactly the same position just seconds before vanishing, never to be seen again.

Until now.

"_Harley?!"_

Limburger saw the reaction his hostage provoked and gave a wide, evil grin. "I believe this would be the perfect time for you all to drop your weapons. Before the young lady finds herself shorter… by a head."


	3. Hard To Believe

**Author Note: **Apologies for the wait for this chapter - sidetracked! But here it is and I hope you enjoy. Two things I should clarify though. One, POW is short for Prisoner Of War. And two, read the disclaimers at the beginning. I know this chapter raises questions and might annoy some, so I'll just remind you about them. Enjoy!

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For long seconds, the Biker Mice stared at Harley, caught in Greasepit's grip. She hadn't turned to look at them, too concerned with the gun at her head, but they could easily see who it was in spite of the angle, and the changes that had been wrought by time and captivity. Her hair was much shorter, as if it had been chopped clumsily some time in the past and allowed to grow back. There was a scar running down the side of her face, near the corner of her right eye and the right ear had a mangled, ragged look. She was thinner than they remembered, but surprisingly, a long way from emaciated.

"Last chance, Biker Mice," gloated Limburger. "Drop your weapons and surrender or I'll let Greasepit use her for target practice – and even _his_ aim isn't that bad."

Vinnie sighed and threw his gun to the floor, Throttle following suit a second later. Modo retracted his arm cannon and slowly lowered his arm.

"Hands in the air," added Limburger. "And vacate the motorcycles please. Stand over by the wall."

The mice complied, none of them taking their eyes off Greasepit, grinning nastily at them, never loosening his grip on Harley. A moment later, three goons walked into the room, restraints in hand, evidently ready to take the mice hostage. From there, they imagined they would be either sent to Karbunkle's lab – or possibly to a jail on Plutark, unwilling guests of Lord Camembert. They had caused enough trouble for the High Council over the years that having them as prisoner would put Limburger in favour.

Vinnie narrowed his eyes as Limburger chuckled; keeping an eye out for an opportunity – _any_ opportunity – to get all four of them out of the predicament they were in. "If you hurt her…"

Harley suddenly twisted in Greasepit's grip, taking her eyes off the gun at her head for the first time and staring across the room at the three Biker Mice. _"Vinnie?"_

"Ah, a happy reunion," said Limburger mockingly. "Too bad it will be all too brief."

"Hur hur," chuckled Greasepit, taking his eyes off Harley and giving the Biker Mice a gap-toothed grin. Harley's gaze shifted from Vinnie to the gun held at her head, narrowing her eyes as the muzzle moved slightly from her head, still aimed at her – but Greasepit's attention was momentarily not on her.

Without warning, Harley stamped on Greasepit's foot as hard as she could. At the same time, she both ducked and slammed her elbow back into his gut.

Moaning in pain, Greasepit tried to both double over and hop at the same time, losing all interest in keeping a grip on Harley. His finger tightened on the trigger of the gun and had Harley not ducked, the accidental shot may well have taken off her head. As it was, the noise and heat from the laser gave her incentive to throw herself out of the way – none too soon, as Greasepit recovered quickly.

Harley hit the floor, and rolled out of the way, just in time to avoid a second blast from his gun. Greasepit lined up for another shot – and then the gun was blown out of his hands as Modo raised his mechanical arm and fired a shot from the cannon.

Throttle let out a piercing whistle and a second later; the office was filled with the sound of growling engines. Harley scrambled to her feet and ran toward the Biker Mice as the three mice leapt onto their bikes.

Snarling, Limburger hit the intercom on his desk. _"Get them!"_

The air in the office became filled with laser fire as the three goons dropped the restraints and grabbed for their guns instead. Limburger jumped as a stray shot scorched his desk and ducked behind the furniture in a hurry.

Vinnie rode past Harley, not slowing for a second as he whipped his tail around her waist and raised her onto the back of his bike. Helmetless, Harley wrapped both arms around Vinnie's waist and clung on tightly as the bike sped toward the goons.

In spite of the firefight going on around them, Vinnie was disconcerted. He'd been going over the moment when he was reunited with Harley for years, the drama-loving side of him always imagining snatching the lady fair from out of the arms of danger, beating the bad guys and riding into the sunset with her on the back of his bike. But as time went on, he began to suspect if they ever did get Harley back, it wouldn't be until the liberation of Mars. He might not even be present when she was freed, stranded on Earth as they were.

But now the moment had arrived, exactly as he had always imagined it would be, he couldn't deny that it didn't feel quite as he had thought it would. Seeing Harley at all had thrown him for a loop and the arms wrapped around him felt slightly awkward after he'd gotten so used to Charley riding pillion.

"_Ooaaww!"_ he yelled, trying to shove the confusion to the back of his mind and concentrate on the fight. He lived for moments like this after all. And just because Harley had surprised him with her presence, didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the fight!

Hitting a button on his dash, Vinnie opened fire at the goons, forcing them to scatter as the laser blasted at them. They narrowly escaped injury, but the shot left a sizeable hole in the door.

Modo picked off those that had run left, swerving his bike to avoid the return fire, eye glowing red. Most of the time, the mice went into battle with the goons without taking things too seriously – they had never been bested by Limburger's troops yet and in the confined space, it wasn't going to be much of a fight. But by trying to use one of their friends to get at them, a friend who wasn't even a field soldier and he had privately suspected on occasion to be dead – that riled him up.

Throttle veered right, taking his hands off the bike long enough to power up his nuke-nuks, skilfully avoiding the fire from the goons. Getting close, he knocked several of them flying across the room, hearing the sound of his bros to his left, taking care of the remainder. Not stopping, trusting that Modo and Vinnie had his back, he spun 180 degrees and rode up to the desk. Limburger picked exactly the wrong time to poke his head from behind it and Throttle grabbed him by the lapels, yanking him forward.

"Where are the other POW's?"

"I – I don't know!" Limburger was gibbering with fear as the last of the goons were dispatched, Modo, Vinnie and Harley approaching the desk too. "I was on business on Plutark when I saw her – I bought her because I knew she could persuade you to surrender!"

"You 'bought' her, huh?" Throttle pulled Limburger closer. "From who?"

"A jail on Plutark…" Limburger gasped for air. "It's where all prisoners of war are taken, eventually."

"Nice." Throttle shoved Limburger backwards, sending him tripping over the chair. "It's a place to start. Get one thing through your head Fish-face, Mice are _no ones _property, least of all _yours. _Let's get Harley outta here."

Vinnie pulled a wheelie and headed for the window that they had broken through, closely followed by Modo and Throttle. Harley, clinging to Vinnie, glanced once at the devastation behind her as they leapt through the window, noting the downed goons and Limburger cautiously looking after them – and then they were descending in a controlled jump down the side of the tower.

When he was sure the mice had left, Limburger stood and brushed off his suit, going over to the broken window and looking out as he saw the three motorcycles riding away down the street.

"That's what _you_ think, you vile vermin…"

Four blocks from Limburger tower, Throttle pulled over at the side of the road and Modo and Vinnie did likewise. They shut off the engines and raised their visors, save for Harley who wasn't wearing a helmet.

Modo shook his head wonderingly; staring at Harley as if trying to understand that she really was on the back of Vinnie's bike. "Imagine Limburger finding you for us. All that time we thought you were somewhere on Mars."

Harley smiled at him and wrapped her arms around Vinnie's neck, leaning against his neck. "I knew you'd be looking for me. I can't believe I'm finally free!"

Throttle smiled slightly, but there was concern in the look. "You can tell us the whole story once we get away from here. Let's head to the Last Chance."

"Uh… the Last Chance?" Vinnie looked suddenly worried. "Is that really a good idea?"

"Harley's got no helmet and the Last Chance is closest," Throttle pointed out, although he had a pretty good idea why Vinnie might not want Harley going over there. "We don't want a cop noticing. Best to get off the streets in a hurry."

Vinnie shrugged, looking surprisingly unhappy for someone who had Harley's arms draped over him, but lowered his visor and started the engine again. Harley settled back down, taking her arms from his neck and wrapping them around his waist instead. Throttle and Modo exchanged serious looks as they gunned their own engines. It was pretty obvious that Harley was expecting to carry on with Vinnie exactly where they left off before her kidnap – but things had changed. There was Charley to think about now and although she and Vinnie weren't an item, they were very close to each other. How the two ladies would react to each other was anyone's guess.

But they didn't have much of a choice. They had to get Harley out of sight before she was seen without a helmet. Beside, Charley had to know sooner or later and leaving her out of something this big was unthinkable. The four of them had been allies too long.

The mice got to the Last Chance without being pulled over by the police, which was fortunate – paying a ticket would be the least of their problems if the cop decided to get nosy about Harley's appearance. Charley was already there, evidently having just arrived back from the rest home. She turned to glare at them; planning to give them a mouthful for leaving her to walk home – then noticed the extra mouse with them and abruptly forgot that she was annoyed.

As the three bikes pulled to a stop, she couldn't take her eyes off Vinnie and the mystery mouse. Not one of the Freedom Fighters she had met before… and the proprietary way that she hung on to Vinnie gave Charley the feeling that she knew just who it was. What she couldn't work out was _how _the mouse could be there, if she was who Charley suspected.

"Hey there Charley-girl," said Throttle, removing his helmet and getting off his bike. "Um… this is Harley, we told you about her, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," she replied, noting Vinnie's worried glances in her direction.

"This is Charley," Throttle said to Harley as she dismounted the bike. "She's kinda become part of the team since we got to Earth."

"Really." Harley gave the human an inscrutable look before smiling. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too – I heard a lot about you…" Charley frowned in confusion. "But I thought it was the rats who had you. How did you end up on Earth? Don't tell me they've decided to show up here too."

"They're not," replied Harley tersely, leaning against the garage wall and glancing at the three Biker Mice. "When Mace took me, I was a prisoner of the rats for a while. But things weren't going so well for them, so they unloaded a load of us on the Sand Raiders. Then the Plutarkians took us from them, off to Plutark, as bargaining tools I heard. Then when the big meeting happened, Limburger saw me and I guess he remembered me from the Freedom Fighters and formed some kind of plan. I didn't know you guys were even on this planet until you showed up at Limburger Tower."

There was silence while the others mulled over the information and then Harley gave another smile. "And it's all over now – you came and got me! I don't want to think about it anymore. Not _now_ anyway. I…" Her smile faded and she looked at the floor. "It doesn't do any good. I was the only Martian that Limburger brought to Earth with him, the others are still on Plutark. I don't see a ship of any kind around here, so unless you're hiding one somewhere _really_ good, I'd say we're stranded here with no way to get back Mars and even if we _could _get back, I doubt the Freedom Fighters have enough mice or planes to mount anything like a rescue mission. I've been a prisoner for a long time and I just want a chance to get used to it without starting planning for war all over again."

Throttle nodded. "But it's information that Carbine should have."

Modo scowled, his eye glowing red. "If I ever meet up with Mace again…"

"Someday you might get the chance," said Harley, an impassive look on her face. "Is there anything to eat?"

Charley glanced at Vinnie again, who was giving Harley a thoughtful, frowning look and she made a quick decision to give the Biker Mice a chance to discuss the situation without either her or Harley listening in. And perhaps there were some things she could help Harley with once the guys were out of the way – girl talk in other words. "Why don't you guys grab us some hot dogs and I'll see if I can find Harley a spare helmet and maybe a jacket?"

"Good idea," said Vinnie hurriedly, putting his helmet back on.

"Well don't be too long," said Harley flirtatiously. "I want to find out how you all got to this planet."

"We'll be quick," promised Throttle and the three rode out.

Charley managed a smile at Harley, genuinely feeling for the young mouse. She too had been taken prisoner by Plutarkians and sold to Sand Raiders, if only briefly. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in that situation for any length of time, unable to do anything about it.

"There's a place nearby that knows exactly how much those guys order normally, it won't take them long."

"It'll be nice to have some real food," commented Harley, glancing around the Last Chance inexpressively.

"I've modified some helmets, just in case those macho mice manage to damage theirs," continued Charley. "I should be able to find one for you."

"Good."

Charley frowned slightly as she noticed that Harley's friendliness had diminished significantly the moment the Biker Mice had left the building. But then, the two had never met and Harley was hardly used to trusting others, especially alien species. On top of that, she seemed to still be infatuated with Vinnie – more so than she had been on Mars, according to what she had heard. As the only other female around – and knowing what Vinnie was like around women – Harley probably considered her a threat.

"I can probably find a spare jacket too," Charley said, noting Harley's drab combats and shirt, wondering if it was standard prison issue clothing. "But I can't help with anything else."

"Don't bother. As long as I have a helmet, I don't think Vinnie's going to wipe us out. And I don't think one of your jackets would fit me anyway."

"Oh, okay," said Charley, trying to keep her temper, reminding herself that the mouse had been through a terrible experience and had only just got free of it. The barely disguised hostility wasn't personal. "Is there anything else you need? Medically perhaps?"

Harley laughed without humour. "I may be a wrench jockey, but I learned a lot about medicine while Mars was a war zone. _If_ I needed any bandaging up, I could take care of it myself."

Turning and walking to where she kept the spare helmets, Charley ground her teeth and fought for control. Harley being sprung on her was a shock – she had got used to the status quo, where Vinnie spent his time trying to impress her and she rolled her eyes at him. They had settled into a flirtatious, bantering relationship that Charley had known wouldn't last forever, but she had expected it to be cut short by the mice returning to Mars once their mission on Earth was complete. Never had she expected that Harley would show up in Chicago.

And although she was trying to be charitable, she was a little perturbed at how jealous she felt. Vinnie had always carried a torch for his first love and now she was back, Charley didn't expect that she and Vinnie would be anywhere near as close as they were. Not that anything had ever happened between them – not that she _wanted_ anything to happen – but since the mice had arrived on Earth, he had become her best friend and if Harley continued in her obvious resentment, things would have to change. Hell, things would change regardless.

Trying not to sigh, she grabbed the helmet she had designed as a spare for Throttle and turning back to Harley. "Here. This should fit."

Harley took the helmet and looked around the Last Chance again. "You're a mechanic?"

"Best in Chi-town," said Charley proudly. "I've been working on the improvements on the Biker Mice bikes. You're a mechanic too, right?"

"Best on Mars," echoed Harley, slightly mockingly. "And our names are alike too. Coincidence, huh?"

Charley didn't like where the conversation was heading and reminded herself to tread carefully. She didn't want to alienate Harley, not when she was a Freedom Fighter, close ally of the Biker Mice and less than half a day into her first day as a free mouse for years. But so far, Harley hadn't acted anything like the mouse that her friends had described knowing back on Mars.

"It is an odd coincidence," said Charley slowly.

"Strange how alike we are really. Both mechanics, both with the 'Arley' in the name – must be easier for the boys anyway, if one of them slips up and calls you by my name, they can just pretend you misheard!"

"Hey, just a minute…!"

"I saw the way you looked at Vinnie," continued Harley as if Charley had never spoken, the smile gone from her face. "I know what a flirt he can be and I know I've been gone a long time but now I'm _back_ and you need to get any ideas you have about him out of your mind." She laughed, taking the helmet from Charley. "It's quite sweet that he tried to find someone just like me – but you aren't even the same _species_ as him. He'd never be _serious_ about you."

Charley was momentarily speechless, fury so great that she couldn't articulate it, merely glaring at the mouse with her eyes narrow and fists clenched. Harley took the opportunity, tucking the helmet under her arm and walking out of the Last Chance, presumably to wait for the other mice outside. By the time she was able to speak, the other woman was already out of the building.

&&&&&&&&&

For once, Vinnie was entirely silent on the journey to pick up the food, not that the others blamed him. They parked up by the stand and Vinnie leant back on his bike, arms folded, as Throttle gave their order to the vendor.

"There's something different about her," he said suddenly.

The other two looked at him with expressions of mild exasperation. "Of course there's something different about her," said Throttle. "She's been a prisoner of war until today. Be strange if she _was _exactly the same."

"She's gonna have changed some bro," added Modo. "Once she gets used to bein' free again, she'll get back to bein' more like herself. Probably still in shock after the fight and all."

"She didn't seem that shocked," said Vinnie.

"Well, she's a Freedom Fighter, she knows better than to show weakness to Limburger," Modo snapped back, his chivalric side coming out.

"Chill," said Throttle, trying to diffuse things. Vinnie had never really spoken about what had happened to Harley, even when they were back on Mars, but he knew that he had always carried a torch for her and remembered how their failed missions to retrieve her had always led to some of Vinnie's more bad-tempered outbursts and suicidally insane stunts. Having her back so suddenly and unexpectedly was bound to have some effect on their often highly-strung bro – although he had never expected anything like this.

"This is _Harley_," he continued. "She's still the same, she's probably just shocked to find us three here on Earth and herself free after all this time. I mean, we weren't exactly unaffected by being taken prisoner either."

"Nope," replied Modo grimly before changing the subject slightly. "Besides, she seemed awful pleased to see you."

Vinnie brightened noticeably. "Well yeah, but who wouldn't be? This is grade A mouse material to the rescue!"

"Uh, I seem to recall we were there too?" Throttle smirked. The easiest way to get Vinnie out of one of his moods was to appeal to his vanity. "Dogs are here. You gonna help us with 'em or you gonna sit around congratulating yourself?"

Vinnie rolled his eyes theatrically and took a handful of Charley's money from his pocket, paying for the food while the others grabbed the food.

"Wouldn't so to keep the ladies waiting," said Modo. "I'm worried about leaving Harley in a strange place for too long."

"We've been fifteen minutes," answered Throttle, thinking about the atmosphere that they had left behind in the Last Chance and pitching his voice low enough so Vinnie couldn't overhear. "And I'm more worried about how the ladies are gonna react to each other. Because I've got a bad feeling that sparks are gonna fly."


End file.
